


Because I Know What's Coming Next

by Kanene_Rose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Inspiration for Sorcerer's Stone Fanfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanene_Rose/pseuds/Kanene_Rose
Summary: "And how would you like to work for the Dark Lord, my sweet?"When Bellatrix Lestrange herself comes to recruit Phoenix, how can she refuse?This is the inspiration for another fanfic I'm currently writing called The Sorcerer's Stone.





	1. Meeting Madam Lestrange

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was fourteen, so take pity on me. It's not the best writing in the world.

Phoenix stretched her arms in front of her, hearing the crack of her elbows she expected after having put them through such work. It was not so much the physical or mental rigor of the training—she stood waiting her turn for most of the lesson—but the position she was told to keep, with both her hands kept folded neatly up by her chest. This way, Professor Kensing could see what she was doing with her hands at all times. 

Looking around, she could see that the other students were thinking the same as she: their regiment was both ridiculous and ineffective. To wake up at six in the morning, begin classes at seven without a provided breakfast, and continue ‘training’ until five in the afternoon where they were given an hour to prepare for dinner and allowed afterward to retire left them both tired and distracted. The lot of them had not learned a single thing in their classes, either, except that to disobey their professors would gain them some sort of inhumane punishment. 

At that thought, the scars on Phoenix’s arms began to sting and her posture remained uncomfortable even when she pushed the idea into the back of her mind. It had been a whole year since she was last given the Cruciatus Curse  and she vowed then that she, within her power, would stay as far away from the ends of her professors’ wands as she could. So far she had succeeded, though she knew not to push her luck.

It was five o’clock and Professor Kensing dismissed the students. He did not verbally announce the end of the class, nor did he produce magic to put away any of the props they had used during their lesson; he simply stuffed his wand into his pocket and sat at his desk to read the  _ Daily Prophet _ . 

The students, all tired of standing in the same position, pushed the desks from the walls into five rows of two with the great clatter and screeching of wood and metal being scraped against tile. Then, single-file, they marched from the room and toward their dormitories.Both boys and girls took a direct right out of the classroom and to the marble staircase. They walked together until they reached the second platform, at which point the girls split off from the mass and entered a tight hallway on their left. 

Their dormitory was little more than a set of three bedrooms, each with two beds and a small fireplace with no chimney, and a small den, as they called it, that was so similar to the Gryffindor common room in concept that Phoenix found herself constantly thinking back to her first and second years, when she could sometimes catch little bits and pieces of conspiracies and plans that Harry Potter and his friends had conjured up. The only real differences, she noticed, were the absence of staircases leading to the bedrooms (there were hallways instead), the change in color from red and gold to dark shades of green and black, and the location—stationed in the basement, rather than the tower. 

Phoenix let her body ache as she splayed herself out on her bed, not moving to a better position or using a spell to lighten the pain. She knew it was her fault, that she shouldn’t have gone out the night before to stalk around the territory boundaries, but she couldn’t help but feel that it was worth every minute to know that spells were stationed three hundred yards from the mansion in every direction. Whatever enchantments had been done, Phoenix had not yet learned. She was determined to figure out, however, what would happen if someone should come across the border and how to disarm it. There had to be a way that the Death Eaters made it through without setting off an alarm. 

 

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts, though even the shock that ran down her spine still was not enough to make her move an inch. Her eyes were cast at the door, knowing it was not another student, who would be already on their way to dinner, and she could feel them getting wider with every second she waited. 

Another knock came. 

“Who is it?” Her voice was timid, and there was a faint, mocking sigh from behind the thick wooden slab. 

“Open the door,” the woman answered. “I have a proposition for you.”

Phoenix sat up and reached out one shaking hand, summoning her wand from the bookshelf on the opposite wall. The force drove three novels to spill open onto the floor, pages crinkled, and with one flick Phoenix send the Muggle fiction onto a chair by her nightstand and lit the fireplace. She jumped to her feet, hearing the impatient click of heels behind the door, and stood by the foot of her bed. 

With a swish of her wand, the door opened to reveal a rather strange figure. It was a woman, nearly a head taller than herself, with long, curly black hair that had been pulled into a partial bun. Her dress, floor-length, was nearly the same color. 

“Your name is Phoenix Icis?” Phoenix took it as a question, but it was said with such conviction to make her think it was a statement lacking one final reassurance. She could not speak, but instead nodded her head heavily and slowly, letting it rest with her eyes locked on the end of the woman’s skirts for a moment or two. “Have you no middle name?”

Phoenix was taken aback by the unfamiliar question. People had a tendancy to assume that Icis was her surname, as this woman supposedly had, but never inquired further; why should they? She cleared her throat.

“I have none currently,” she stated, her voice noticeably stronger than before. Then, sensing the witch knew more than she was letting on, added,“My last family name was Adler.” 

The woman gave a crooked smile, baring rotted teeth in black and yellow. Her eyes seemed to dance with purpose. Taking steady strides toward the place where Phoenix stood, she made sure to make her footfalls slow enough to instill an anxiety in the young girl before her. 

The door closed, seemingly on its own, and the woman sat on the bed with Phoenix watching curiously. She bounced twice on it, steadying herself with her hands, then pushed down in the center of the mattress and listened to the loose springs squeak as she lifted her weight off the spot. She seemed disappointed, the corners of her mouth turned down in a sort of pout, and she turned to face Phoenix with her arms contracted on her lap. 

“Not very comfortable, is it?” she whined. Phoenix was afraid of answering truthfully and getting punished for being ungrateful, but to outright lie would earn her the Cruciatus Curse as well. She pulled her hands behind her back into a tight grip around her wand. 

“It is sufficient.” 

The woman let out a laugh that shook Phoenix to the bone and made her face go white. Not knowing who was sitting in her dorm was enough to make Phoenix uneasy, but spotting a glimpse of a Dark Mark on the woman’s left wrist surprisingly struck more curiosity in her than fear.

“Sufficient,” she chuckled. “But it could be better, could it not?” 

Phoenix stumbled a little, thinking over what she was to say thoroughly before answering. This woman looked dangerous, even for a Death Eater. 

“I suppose there is always room for improvement, Madam.” 

With that the witch’s smile grew wider, though Phoenix was not quite sure why. 

“Sufficient. Madam,” she paused, propping herself back on her arms and letting her legs stretch to kick the bed a few meager feet away. “I like your answers. Very professional...Your age?”

“Fourteen,” Phoenix spat out rather quickly. The force of the word itself came as a shock to her and the dark witch sitting on  _ her _ bed. Then again, she thought, there was not a thing she truly owned in the world save her wand...but even that was debatable.

“And how would you like to work for the Dark Lord, my sweet?” she whispered, stolid in comparison to her earlier childlike expression. Her grin changed into a rather distasteful smirk, pulling one side of her face into a Cheshire Cat smile while the other took up a rather placid air. 

Phoenix knew there was no way to refuse a Death Eater, especially when they called asking for loyalty. She found herself taking her time to answer, again, which was not usual for Phoenix, who could normally organize her thoughts and compute an answer without much preparation. After a moment or two, the older woman lost her patience and dropped her smile. She stood, rather unamused this time, and leaned over Phoenix .

“And how would you like to work for the Dark Lord, my sweet?” she hissed, keeping her deep brown eyes on Phoenix’s lips, waiting for her mouth to move in response. 

“I will do whatever he asks,” Phoenix whispered, not meaning a word. 

But the witch smiled and traveled the room, content with the given answer, and picked some of the books off the shelves. 

“ _ An American Tragedy, Sister Carrie, A Tale of Two Cities _ ?” Phoenix had not turned around to watch the woman rummaging through her things, but could feel her stare on the back of her head. She was glad, however, to notice the tone of voice she used was much softer and childlike again, as it had been when she first spoke. “Muggle rubbish! Is this what they teach you to read?”

“It’s what I had in the orphanage,” Phoenix explained, pulling a strand of brown hair behind her ear and twisting it around her index finger. “They wouldn’t let me bring any of my books from Hogwarts when they brought me here. This is all I have.” 

The witch’s smile grew wider, once again baring those hideous fangs, and her eyes danced in delight. She had thought up a plan, an angle, and she knew she would get what she wanted. 

“My name is Madam Lestrange,” she said poignantly, taking smooth strides across the emerald green carpet and sticking one hand out toward Phoenix. “And I can give you more. The Dark Lord is willing to give you what you desire to work for him.”

Phoenix knew this was a lie, but she took in a fresh breath—noticing she hadn’t since the woman began nearing her—and took Madam Lestrange’s hand in her own. 


	2. Driving Hermione

The brightest witch of her age. That title didn’t quite befit Hermione; not entirely, at least. She surely had a lust for learning and was rather talented at doing so, but her execution of spells outside of theory was shaky when it came down to it. Especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where reaction and instinct counted most. Phoenix would admit, however, that Hermione’s performance was the only thing deterring her from associating the young witch with that most famous epithet. 

She was, without a doubt, the quickest to pick up on new theories and techniques—to memorize and recite facts and incantations that other students struggled to comprehend—but her abilities outside of the classroom faltered. Brightest, therefore, could be discouraged. 

Phoenix was on the exact opposite side of the spectrum. She was quick-thinking, instinctual, and best under stressful situations. To sit her down and force her to read spells or history, however, would cause a rebellion—subconsciously, of course—and get you the same results as asking the book itself to read, which you know is unusual (though not impossible). 

Neither of the girls had ever given this much thought. Hermione assumed that she deserved the title simply because it seemed truthful. Phoenix, on the other hand, took it only as an exaggeration. Surely, there was someone her age that was brighter than Hermione, and so no one could truly ever accept that she was so without exploring the possibility of her  _ not  _ being so. 

When the two girls met in their first year at Hogwarts, neither of them were easy to get along. They never fought, at least out loud, and they seemed quite content to be living in the same dorm in the tower. But when put together to work in any sense, the two would push their stubborn opinions on the other and make it nearly impossible to finish their task. When it came to bookwork and potions, Hermione was nearly always right. When put into action, Phoenix seemed to have the upper hand. And for this reason alone the teachers paired the two whenever they could. They were stubborn, but always accepted their defeat somewhat graciously. Put simply: they learned from each other. 

When Bellatrix was told to bring the girl back to Hogwarts, she knew the reasoning behind the Dark Lord’s decision. The two brightest witches of their age: a dangerous pair indeed. 

  
  
  


Phoenix was uncomfortable becoming a part of the Gryffindor House for the second time. She sat alone on the train, holding her trunk tightly in her left hand to keep it close to her knee, and watched as hundreds of faces passed by. Some familiar, some not. Some old enough to wonder if she knew them, others she wondered were related to the students she had forgotten. The scarlet train was more beautiful than she remembered, so her loneliness subsided in the thought. 

“Excuse me,” coughed a redheaded girl. Phoenix had not noticed the compartment door click open. “Is this seat taken?” 

The girl gestured to the whole compartment, which remained empty, save Phoenix and her single trunk, and  sat quickly when Phoenix shook her head. Behind her stumbled in three familiar faces: Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and, unmistakably, Hermione Granger. 

Phoenix turned to the redheaded girl and smiled. “You’re Ginny Weasley, right?”

Ginny grinned and nodded her head kindly, but turned to her brother assuming he had more of an idea who this mystery student was than she. The corners of Ron’s mouth turned down, if only for a moment, and he shrugged. Harry seemed just as confused.

But Hermione recognized something in the brunette’s face, leaving her mouth slightly parted and her gaze distant. 

“How do you know my sister?” Ron asked, quite brusquely. Hermione cast a discomforting glare in his direction. 

Phoenix, however, was not disturbed by his outburst. She stuck out her hand, more toward Ginny than her brother, and smiled as warmly as she could.

“My name is Phoenix Icis. I went to school with you a few years ago,” she said softly. Her voice could just barely be heard above clacking of wheels filtering up through the train floor and the noise and shouts of students running just outside the car.

Hermione’s bottom jaw dropped in shock, and recollection, but the other three seemed not to remember a thing about the girl. It was understandable, Phoenix thought. She’d been taken by the Death Eaters after their second year at Hogwarts, about a year and a half earlier, and her appearance had changed dramatically since: her once pudgy, childish face had thinned from near-starvation, her muscles had developed through rigorous exercise, and her tan skin had paled from lack of sun. 

It took Hermione a moment to realize who it was she was seeing; she turned suddenly to Harry, mouth agape, and said, “Harry, she was sorted into Gryffindor our first year.” 

The two boys still seemed unsure. 

“The two of you are so daft,” Hermione continued, incensed and more than slightly embarrassed. “Every teacher paired us together.  _ Especially  _ Snape. We were in competition every minute of every day! Recall?”

They shook their heads, to Hermione’s disappointment, but Ginny seemed to be catching on. 

“Oh, I remember,” she said. “You won all of those points for Gryffindor. What was it for again?”

“Duelling Club,” Hermione huffed.

“Not really worth the points, is it?” Phoenix quipped, baring her teeth in a vicious grin.

Hermione blanched.

  
  
  


Ginny seemed willing to speak with her and discuss her normal life, for which Phoenix was secretly grateful. She’d been stuck in that stuffy mansion for so long, she’d almost forgotten how it felt to just  _ talk, _ without consequence, about things that had no particular value. For the first time in nearly two years, Phoenix felt  _ normal _ .

Harry, Ron and Hermione, however, kept silent for a majority of the trip; Phoenix decided that the rest of the train must have been full, or else they would have moved. Hermione remembered what an eavesdrop Phoenix had been and made a point to tell the others, though Phoenix could care less about their secret plans. Potter had defeated Voldemort once again and, no matter how intuitive Hermione was, she would never guess what plans he had in store for this year. Or the part in it which Phoenix would take. 

 

* * * * *

 

The Sorting Ceremony took longer than Phoenix had expected and the feast was unbearably loud for her taste—having been in a school of twenty for two years where they mostly weren’t allowed to speak without express permission—but settling into the Gryffindor dormitories had come pleasurably and undisturbed. Parvati had once tried to initiate some sort of conversation, but gave up after recieving a line of unenthusiastic one-word responses from Phoenix. The rest of the night was quite pleasant. 

  
  


Morning came all too quickly for Phoenix, who had overslept for the first time in a long time. Her hair was a mess, her teeth unbrushed, and the lot of her belongings were still packed away in her trunk. As the other girls did not see it necessary to wake her when she overslept, she found it an acceptable option to flick her wand and repair all of the damage. She was finished readying in a flash, more beautiful than ever, and a scowl found it’s way across Hermione’s face as she realized her ‘misuse’ of magic. There was no Hogwarts rule against using magic to prepare in the morning, however, and Phoenix walked out of the dormitory completely satisfied and completely without qualm. 

Hermione would brew on this for the whole of the day, muttering to herself about the self-serving witch and complaining that she hadn’t been punished. Harry and Ron tried to remind her that the other girl did absolutely nothing wrong, but Ginny at least would listen to her murmurings...at least, until Ginny, too, stuck up for Phoenix, at which point Hermione huffed and fell silent. She pouted and sighed obnoxiously whenever Phoenix was within earshot, but was somehow successful in staying far enough away to avoid being paired with the other girl during their first few classes. When they arrived at Potions, however, Snape saw Hermione, then Phoenix, and a twisted smirk crept its way across his palid face. 

“No, Miss Granger,” he drawled as Hermione moved toward Ron, placing her textbook beside his cauldron. “I think it’s about time we change things up. Miss Icis?”

“Yes, sir?” she asked, looking up from her own cauldron, where she’d already combined the first set of ingredients, to her partner’s bewilderment.

“I would like you to work today with Miss Granger.”

“But Professor,” Hermione griped. “I don’t think that we’ll be able to work cohesively.”

Snape turned on his heel to face the know-it-all. His glare, however, fell almost instantly on Phoenix, who had been scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, and his steps took a turn in her direction. She did not notice how close he really was until he leaned over her desk, at which time she closed her journal and bowed her head. 

“Perhaps, Miss Icis, it would be beneficial to place you with another student. Would you agree?” he spat as his black eyes burned holes into Phoenix’s chocolate ones. 

“Whatever you decide, Professor,” she nodded in reply, her voice strong. Phoenix turned to look at Hermione, but turned around immediately as Hermione caught her gaze. 

“It seems that Ms. Icis is more level-headed than yourself, Miss Granger,” he scorned. “You could learn something from her.” 

With that, Phoenix expected a deduction of house points from Gryffindor for Hermione’s question on his better judgement, but his focus was quickly diverted to Crabbe, who had somehow managed to set himself on fire. The crowd of students cluttered the farthest corner in amazement. Hermione and Phoenix, however, seemed set on each other. 

Hermione stood and made her way to Phoenix’s cauldron. They stared at one another, the latter’s eyes changing from chocolate to green in her curiosity. Hermione watched this, unsure whether she was actually seeing it happen or whether her mind was simply frazzled. 

“Hello, Hermione,” Phoenix’s tone was somewhat pitchy, giving her voice a less genuine effect, but otherwise harmless. 

_ Her eyes were green. Yes _ . Hermione decided.  _ They were definitely green _ . 

Hermione’s voice was harsh as she began to list the ingredients they would need from the book. Every few objects would sound higher than others, where Phoenix noticed her insecurity. She had noticed right away that the ingredients were all wrong, save the dragonfly thoraxes, and she leafed through her own book to find the instruction page to make the Girding Potion. 

“Granger,” she intervened. Hermione looked up, her eyes wide and her mouth forming a scowl, and waited for Phoenix to continue. “You’re reading the wrong page.”

Hermione’s cheeks went pink with embarrassment, her lips white, and her forehead white as well. She turned the page once and found the correct potion. 

“I’ve already done the first section,” Phoenix muttered. “Now we’ve just to wait.”

 

Once the potion had been finished— _ almost _ perfectly, in Snape’s eyes—and they had gained the extra two points for their House, the two girls found themselves in a bind. 

_ Partners _ , Hermione thought, _ until the end of class. If only Harry and Ron were finished, we could talk or something, anything to distract me from this witch. _

Phoenix noticed Hermione’s constant stare. She didn’t understand what for, but with her eyes nearly squinted and mouth formed into a straight line, she could not help but feel that Hermione resembled McGonagall when angered. Hermione did not even notice when Phoenix stared back. 

“Okay, Granger,” Phoenix laughed, “What is your problem with my face?” 

At that she lifted one hand and checked for spots on her cheek and forehead (turning away from Granger, of course). 

Hermione took a moment to contemplate how stupid it would sound if she asked Phoenix why were eyes were changing color. Perhaps it was only her imagination. What then? 

_ But they had definitely changed,  _ she thought.  _ Chocolate last night and this morning, green when we were partnered, blue when congratulated, and now a deep brown again.  _

But before she could reply, Phoenix leaned across the desk, her feet crossed on the underside of her seat, and grinned. Her eyes danced between dark purple and lilac and she whispered:

“Do you want to know a secret?”


	3. A Most Beautiful Animagus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, I did not edit this.

Phoenix was tired of the constant talk about the Triwizard Tournament. She knew the who would be picked, so there was nothing to strike her curiosity; she knew all of the challenges, so there was nothing to fear; the only thing she had to look forward to was the pure adrenaline of the moment, when it came. But there were the infinite students surrounding her, unaware of the plans set long before the Tournament was even announced, that bickered and tittered and seemingly had begun the competition already against each other. Slytherins badgering the other houses, Hufflepuffs sure they would have a member chosen, Ravenclaws seeing the ensuing danger, and Gryffindors knowing they would be the strongest contenders against the fear and action that Dumbledore had warned them would come. Until the other schools arrived, unimportant to Phoenix, Hogwarts would be pitted against itself. 

 

Coal black eyes darted quickly across the room a few dozen times in a minute as Phoenix forgot to mind where they wandered. Her tongue ran over her teeth, unusually sharp, and a sudden hunger arose in her stomach. It was instinctual, but not completely primitive; it had been since that morning that she had eaten anything, and now she longed for something to sink her fangs into. She thought about sneaking into the kitchens and finding some terribly frightened House Elf to lend her a small plate of what would be served the next morning, or even leftovers from the dinner feast only an hour or so before. 

  
Her thoughts were interrupted by a strong knock on the door, just as forceful as the one two months earlier. There was no question as to who this was. 

 

“Enter,” she groaned as her stomach growled. One hand reached up to the edge of the full tub and turned herself to face the entrance of the Prefect bathroom. The witch that entered was more than familiar now. 

 

Bellatrix had met with Phoenix three times before while she was at Hogwarts, usually in the Forbidden Forrest while accompanied by either Snape or ‘Professor Moody.’ But this meeting would be something new, something strange...for Madam Lestrange, at least. 

 

Facing her from the center of the tub was an enchanting creature with white skin and gold hair as precious as spun brass. Phoenix was now about seven feet in length, perhaps a bit smaller, and her eyes changed immediately from black to lilac upon seeing the witch. A tail of varying orange and gold hues was barely visible through the thick layer of bubbles the young witch had poured into the bath. The two Death Eaters remained still for a time — Phoenix waiting for the oldest’s inspection to end while Bella’s mouth twisted into a most discouraging smile — until Madam Lestrange concluded that Phoenix’s form was acceptable. 

 

“So,” she hissed, closing the distance between them until she met the side of the bath. “You will lead him here, won’t you? The Potter boy?”

 

Phoenix bowed her head. It would be some time before she could present him with the clue on how to use the egg, but the Dark Lord liked to be prepared at the least, if not overly cautious. 

 

“And once the boy is in the lake,” Lestrange smirked all the more with a thought so enticing she began to laugh.

 

Phoenix bowed her head once more and ducked below the water, not to surface until she knew she was alone. 


End file.
